Spectre's Judgement (Death's Vengeance)
by TheGirlWithFarTooManyIdeas
Summary: Harry sacrifices himself to save his friends from Fiendfyre in the DoM. He dies and ends up in a strange limbo where he is greeted by Salazar Slytherin. He finds out a few things, and trains for years inside this strange place. A year passes outside and the war against Voldemort is going badly. Then Ginny Weasley sees heavenly light in the sky. H/G, AU after OotP
1. Chapter 1

**Specter's Judgement (Death's Vengeance)**

**Tyene: I'm warning you, you're going to hurt yourself.**

**Wanda: (stubbornly) I have to deal with my crazy feels somehow, don't I? Why not by channelling them into stories?**

**Tyene: (sighs) I keep telling you, you never listen...neither of us own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter 1**

Death was something that happened to other people.

Harry hadn't remembered the last time he'd been able to entertain such fanciful thinking. He'd been surrounded by death ever since he was a year old, when his parents were murdered trying to protect him from a man who wanted to kill him. When he was four he had witnessed a car crash. In his first year he had come face to face with the monster who had tried to kill him as a baby, and had killed his parents to that end. He met the man again, in his second year, as a memory who had been trying to kill every muggleborn in the school. In his third year he had to confront the serial killer who had betrayed his parents and killed thirteen people with a single spell.

And that didn't even account for the Dementors, basilisk, giant spiders, three-headed dogs and trolls that he had to fend off or escape from on a regular basis. The Tri-Wizard tournament had only served to escalate these attacks, allowing him to add Dragons, Mermen, mutations and other students to the list of creatures that had tried to kill him.

Then, at the end of the tournament, Cedric had died – been murdered right before his eyes. After that, Dementors had attacked him in the last place that Dumbledore had said was safe for him, and defending himself had resulted in him standing a trail that could have just as easily killed him – or at least made it much easier on the one who wanted him dead. Then Arthur Weasley had nearly died...no, Harry was familiar with death. He had begun to wonder when everyone else around him would die; it seemed, to him, to be due course. He woke up every morning, wondering if today was going to be worse than yesterday, wondering what bad news could be brought to the fore.

Of course, that depended on when he heard any actual news. Depending on the mood of the one controlling the mail, he either knew much more than he should be able to shoulder at his age, or he knew absolutely nothing about crucial information, which more often then not got him into even bigger messes than knowing did.

His entire life had seemed to just be one bad day after another, with no real release, no real safety and no real freedom.

Ten years in a cupboard had effectively destroyed his childhood, and left several brittle pieces to be picked up and awkwardly put back together when he was taken into another world. He was demeaned, called a freak, and attention-seeking liar, a cheater, and a host of other things that he had grown weary of reciting, none of which seemed to reflect the boy who actually existed. The other world had seemed like a magical place indeed when he had first stepped into it.

But that had changed too, hadn't it?

You'd think that other world would be a safe haven, but it wasn't.

Corruption and decadence was simmering in the streets and rotted away at the foundations of the government. He'd been under constant assassination attempts, he'd been abandoned by someone he considered his best friend over something that he hadn't even done. He'd been glared at and bullied relentlessly by a few of his teachers, and everyone else expected him to be some sort of Messianic Archetype.

He'd watched people die, he'd seen his own friends turn on him over petty jealously or actual belief that he had done whatever he was accused of. Leaving him alone, with his loneliness and pain.

Loneliness and pain were no strangers to him; they had been by his side for as long as he could remember, his only constant companions.

All of that – all of it. That was all before his own death.

He could practically see his tombstone in his mind's eye – Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, son of James and Lily Potter, 1981 – 1996. Just fifteen years old. A fifth year, dead in the Department of Mysteries, having been caught up in a Fiendfyre curse.

He wondered what was being said at his funeral; if he had gotten a funeral at all, considering that they wouldn't have been able to find his body.

He wondered if any of the things being said about him were the truth, or if it was all just part of the manufactured tale that was the Boy-Who-Lived, a story that both sides told and neither of which held a grain of truth in them. If it was one-sided stories told by people who had resented him. If anyone who actually still believed in him had come forward. If the people who said they believed in him had said anything at all. He wasn't sure at this point...he'd always had to do everything alone.

None of them had been there for him when he had truly needed it. The last few times he had managed to escape a harsh end by the skin of his teeth, but it seemed that the Grim Reaper had finally caught up and collected his due.

It was funny, he was still thinking like when he had been alive. What must be happening at Hogwarts and among the Order of the Phoenix? After all, the venerated Headmaster had lost his most important weapon, all over one little prophecy that he hadn't even heard before he died.

He imagined the amount of propaganda generated by his death, used by the people who hated him, the people who had expected him to win the war for them, the people who had actually believed in him...his former friends. Just about anyone, actually. He could imagine the strife and chaos in the world he had left behind...at least, now that Voldemort was (possibly) out in the open. And even then, would anyone put up any meaningful resistance? Or would they all fade away or get killed, because they were too afraid to admit the truth?

That was probably how Fudge and Umbridge would go out, though he hadn't ruled out Umbitch taking the side of the Death Eaters so she had an excuse to torture students like him. Maybe Percy was salvageable, but he hadn't lived to see his reaction to Voldemort's return.

Of course, Voldemort would have had to make an appearance for that to have happened. But he doubted that the man would have missed a chance to gloat over having finally killed his irritating nuisance of a roadblock to power. Voldemort was the gloating type. It was the major reason Harry had been able to get away from him before.

Harry had no answers to either of any of the questions he was burning to ask. He wasn't part of the living world anymore.

It was funny, the transition. It wasn't what he had expected it to be; so unlike the nights he had dreamed about it. There had been a single moment of burning agony, and then nothing. Total blackness, and then a tugging sensation as his soul left his body.

He could remember it so clearly. They had been running in the DoM when they realized they had been lead into a trap by Kreacher and Voldemort. Running from the Death Eaters who had demanded the prophecy. Surprise, surprise, Lucius Malfoy had been one of them. Imagine that.

They had split the ground up, firing stunners and every spell that they had learned in DA before turning and running for whatever the nearest exit was. He had lost track of Neville quickly, and had to save Hermione from at least one killing curse before being forced down another alise. All this time all he could think about was '_this is my fault. I brought them here and it was a trap'_.

They were running down the hall, himself, Ginny and Luna. The two girls had been the first ones he could find; the others had been separated – or maybe had just left them to the mistake he had made. Harry wasn't sure of anything anymore. One thing he had known is that he would never have forgiven himself if anything had happened to this particular pair of girls.

Ginny was...special...to him, and Luna was her best friend, and someone who had helped him in her own strange way throughout that year.

There was a group of Death Eaters right behind them; he could hear their footsteps. The three of them had tried to loose them, but they proved unshakable. The students cast every spell they could think of, but Bellatrix Lestrange was determined to get that Potter brat.

And then, it had happened, so fast that he hadn't even had a chance to register it.

He heard someone cast a spell he'd never heard before. "Fiendfyre."

He had glanced over his shoulder to see a monstrous creature in the form of flames hurting towards the three of them, eating up everything in its path. He had seen it walk through water without even a shudder. He had known somehow, deep inside him, that this fire was one that could not be stopped. It would destroy him.

There was a tortuous pain in his forehead, like a foreign presence trying in vain to protect itself from an oncoming danger. So he had reached out...

His response had been so natural, he hadn't even realized he was doing it. But then again, his 'saving people thing' as Hermione had once put it always seemed to take president over all rational thought.

He shoved Luna and Ginny into the Floo, and flung powder in shouting the first name that had come to mind – Diagon Alley. He had seen it flare green and the two of them disappear.

He had turned just as the fire bore down on him, feeling strangely at peace with it, and everything came to an end.

He didn't have a chance to react.

But even death, it seemed, didn't keep the sense of purpose away from Harry.

A sensation of need.

As he had drifted off, into the dark ocean of oblivion, floating towards a shining island that might be the afterlife, words floated around him, words that he hadn't said, but seemed to be resonating from within his very soul. Not knowing who or what was listening, but pleading for someone – anything – to listen.

_Wait. Please, there's something I still need to do, something only I can do..._

_..Not for myself! No, not for me...nothing for me. I ask for nothing. It's for the other people. Everyone that I love. They need me for one last thing...Only I can defeat Voldemort...please give me a chance to! Let me fulfil the prophecy made at my birth. Give me a chance, and I'll return here._

And something, somewhere..

...he wasn't sure what...

...had answered him.

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Harry was lying on his back on a grey stone floor, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten here, why he was here, or how long he'd been there. He'd long lost any sense of time or direction, but the sense of puzzlement was still there, a long familiar feeling. He sat up, propped up on his elbows, and looked around.

He was in the middle of a stage in what looked to be a ballroom that had long gone into disrepair. It was tired and rather sad looking, as though it had once been a mighty and popular place. There were chairs lined up against the wall, waiting for an event that would never happen. There was a pedestal for a speaker and a pit for the musicians.

But everything was completely grey, and looked worn and tired. Harry swung his feet off the side of the stage and looked about. The loneliness of the room was what stuck out to him the most, as he looked around, wondering. There was no one else here that he could see, and when he called out, his voice echoed through the ghostly halls to no reply.

That was the only thing that remained consistent, wherever he wandered.

And he had wandered before; there was a grand hall that lead to many other rooms, just as it would have in life. They all held with them their older functions, though they were currently not in use. One was a classroom, another was a prison cell, and yet another was a conference room with empty chairs and an empty blackboard.

Was this the afterlife?

Harry thought it to be very strange, then. He would have thought he'd see his mother and father when he died, not end up alone in a grey mansion. He had wanted to see them again so badly, it was the one good thing about dying. But he hadn't seen them since he had woken up in this strange place, not heard them or anything.

Why a ballroom of all places, anyway?

Sighing, Harry got to his feet again. There was a loud click of sound echoing with his every step as he walked out into the hallway. He turned and looked down it.

It seemed to continue on and on, and there wasn't really any indication that he was supposed to go somewhere. The other rooms he had visited before were exactly as he left them, their doors swung open, waiting for new guests.

Without really knowing what to do, he started walking to the right of the hall instead of the left, to see if he could reach the end of it. It was the first thing that came to his mind. What else was he supposed to do?

Harry walked and walked, still unsure of his destination, but feeling oddly spurred on by something, this funny feeling that someone was waiting for him.

Eventually, he came to a fork in the hallway, with two open doors on either side of him. Surprise, Harry came to a stop. He didn't remember this place.

Then something appeared on the floor of the hall. Something incredibly disturbing. In one of the side rooms, there was a lump of something that seemed to resemble a dead baby, whimpering, burned almost to cinders.

Both repulsed and horrified by the sight, Harry looked away.

"It's a terrible thing, magic. Isn't it?"

Harry turned his head with a start. There was a tall man standing opposite to him, having appeared in between his glance at the awful baby-creature and his approaching of the room. He had silver eyes and long black hair, skin pale as death – though Harry had realized he looked the same way a while ago. He was wearing black robes that hid his entire body, giving him the look of a wandering ranger or samurai, and heavy looking black boots.

Harry took the second-long glance that he could bear at the small being in the next room, before looking back at the stranger. He felt oddly comforted by the man's presence, though he was at loss to explain it.

"What is that?" He asked.

The man sighed heavily. "That, Harry James Potter...is a piece of Tom Riddle's twisted soul. He gave that to you when he tried to kill you as a baby."

Harry stared at the stranger, turning that thought over in his head. He looked back in the room, to where the miserable creature stayed, and realized that it did make sense, to some extent. Voldemort's soul... that was his connection to the man. That was the reason he'd been able to see and feel some of Voldemort's emotions and thoughts, how he could have been given a false vision. He'd been carrying a part of him inside his head all this time.

He would have been disgusted and horrified had he known this when he was alive. Merlin alone knew what he would have done with the information. He'd always been on the impulsive side back then. Those feelings did linger in him still, but they seemed dulled by death, and the knowledge that the thing was separated from him.

He looked back at the man, hoping for a little further explanation. "A piece of his soul?" He asked. "You mean...a soul is something that can be chopped into pieces and hid around the world? I wouldn't have thought..."

"In a sense," The man responded. His voice was a deep baritone, and he looked calm even in the face of this information. "As long as you have your horcruxes, you cannot truly die. Though you sacrifice both your humanity and your afterlife when you do so. It's among the most disgusting magics alive, work of the demons of hell."

"Why'd he do it, then?" Harry asked, finding himself strangely curious. He wondered what could make someone that desperate, especially someone like Voldemort.

"Tom Riddle feared death above everything else." The man continued explaining to Harry, gesturing with one gloved hand to the room with part of Riddle's soul. "Perhaps because he never wanted his reign to end, perhaps because he never wanted to be reunited with the people he had killed. But whatever the reason, he turned his eyes to the darkest of magics, to find a way to extend his life eternally. To magic left by demons to ensnare the unwary souls."

Harry pulled his eyes away from the deformed baby, thoughtful. Voldemort, for all his twisted mind, seemed...almost pitiful, with this information. He had been so afraid of death he was willing to destroy himself completely to avoid it. He wondered what could have pushed Riddle to make such a decision. Was it truly just for power?

Somehow, that made complete sense to him, as he considered all that he had known about the monster and about himself. There were moments with the Dursleys that made Harry fear for his own life. Would he have done something he shouldn't have, if he had known about magic back then? When Harry had lived his life, it had never been an easy one. Sometimes he did feel prepared to do anything to make these dark feelings go away. In some ways, Riddle had been his mirror image, what might have happened to him if he had decided to just let go of everything and worry only for himself.

"That was my connection to Voldemort." He said wonderingly.

"Yes. That was how he could read your mind and send you false images." The man said. He looked a little strange as he glanced at the creature in the room, as though he were thinking of someone he had known. It was a look Harry had seen Dumbledore with a few times over the years.

"You say 'a' piece," Harry repeated slowly, a thought occurring to him with a memory from his second year. He remembered Riddle's diary and how it had possessed his Ginny, used her body to open the chamber of secrets and unleash a basilisk onto the other children at school. That had been a memory of Riddle from back when he was a student. Was that also a horcrux? It had the characteristics of it, and now that he was thinking about it...

"Do you mean to say that he had created more than one?" He asked, turning his head back towards the mysterious black-clad man.

The thought of there being more than one of those deformed creatures existing was one that caused a deep sorrow to grow inside him, a feeling he didn't quite understand, and not the first one he would have expected. There was also anger, thinking about Riddle's depraved memory hurting his Ginny and turning Hermione to stone, and this he wanted to know.

"He did." The man confirmed, tapping one heel against the floor. He sounded almost sorry to say it, though for Harry himself or for Riddle, Harry wasn't entirely certain. "Seven in total, if you counted your own body. He had meant for his murder of you to be his final horcrux, but as you are undoubtedly aware," at this point the man gave a slight chuckle, "it did not work out quite the way he had intended it to. Such people always underestimate love to their peril."

Harry did understand. He remembered his mother's spectre in the graveyard, and to when her protection burned Quirrel to ashes back when he was just eleven years old. He just nodded in agreement and closed his eyes. Love was a force of nature unto itself, transcending all worlds.

"It was madness, of course, to split your soul in such a way...but Riddle was desperate, he cared not for the consequences." The man finished.

"There was literally a piece of him inside me." Harry murmured. "Looking back on it, that explains so much. It's scary, to think I was bonded that deeply with the guy who killed my mum and dad...if only I had known that when I was alive..."

With that thought, all the questions he had been meaning to ask since his arrival in this strange purgatory returned to him. The fact that he was no longer alone, had someone who could answer his questions, made them all flood back.

He looked beseechingly at the man, "Why aren't they here? My parents? Wouldn't they come to welcome me into the afterlife? What is this place? I don't understand."

The man gave him a small smile that had no joy or humour in it; no, it was more close to grief than anything else. It looked as though he had answered these kinds of questions before, or that he was already aware of Harry's situation before Harry himself understood what had happened to him. His silver eyes looked a thousand years old in the ethereal light of the hallway.

"You must have tired of feeling that way," He said.

Harry gave a snort. "You could say that. Though it might be a bit of an understatement."

A pause. "I don't suppose you're willing to tell me?"

"That's what I'm here for...and more..." The man turned to the direction in the hall that Harry had been walking moments before. "Shall we walk while we reminisce?"

Harry considered for a moment before saying, "Sure." He strode over to the man's side, feeling strangely at ease with him, before they both turned and headed down the hall, forever leaving behind the twisted fragment of Riddle.

He felt fresh and cleansed, as though he had just stepped out of a bath.

The hallway seemed to get more...repaired, for lack of a better explanation, as they walked forward. Like they were entering a wing that had finally gotten its repairs, that other people were actually using. Harry wondered if other people had done this before him, because it looked like it was there as though waiting for something or someone to come.

"This place is a place where souls not ready to move on, but not remaining earthbound, have strayed in and out of for centuries." The man said, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.

"So it is purgatory...but why? Why here?" Harry asked.

"People became earth-bound spirits because they refused to give up petty grudges and old grievances. It is a sorry state, and many will remain trapped there, barred from the afterlife." The man said. "You would know some of them. There are many within the walls of Hogwarts...they decided that they would teach the next generations, so they would not end up like them."

Harry thought about Moaning Myrtle, Nearly Headless Nick, and the Bloody Baron, all familiar ghosts of the school he had called home. They all seemed rather unhappy, as if they were missing something important.

So they could never pass on? Never rejoin their old family and friends from their own times? Never leave the place where their deaths occurred? Watching generations of people just pass on by? That was a lonely thought.

"So they can never move on?" He asked. "That's...rather sad."

"They can only ascend once they've made peace with what happened to them before they died," the man replied as an explanation. "But most of them are too stubborn to let it go, or have done something that, if they acknowledged it, would earn them time in the underworld. So they remain there, thinking that this is...better, then their alternatives."

The man was silent for a moment, as though lost in a memory, before saying, "They are one sort of earthbound spectre. Now, there are some people who wish to return not for themselves, but for the ones that they love...selfless reasons...some dictated by prophecy, sometimes by fate, and sometimes by an inherit need for justice to be served. There have been fewer of these in recent times, but when they are called upon, amazing things can happen. These people ask for heavenly aide...and sometimes, they are granted help."

Harry remembered his words as he was being swept into the afterlife, words that had come from his very soul. The prophecy spoken, the fate of the world if Voldemort was to be its ruler. Calling out into the shadows, a simple plead that those he cared about could be safe...and the feeling that something had answered him.

"I think I understand that..." He said slowly. "That's what happened to me, isn't it?"

"Yes," The man responded. "You're a noble young man Harry Potter, and you died before your time on earth was meant to end. So now you have been called to this place, to right the wrongs done to you and many others, and to fulfil some of the things you were meant to do."

"Thank you," Harry said softly, looking up at the man and smiling. Then his brow furrowed, and he asked, somewhat confused, "but what exactly am I supposed to do?"

The man turned mostly sideways, though he kept walking. Harry realized that he was smiling, as though he hadn't heard anything like a joke in a long time. "You are here to train to become an avenging angel."

"Avenging angel?"

"A higher form of wizard who is sent back to life for a few years to right the wrongs that were done not only unto themselves, but unto others as well."

"So...like a solid form? Or a ghost?"

"You would be solid, as though you were alive. But once you have completed your tasks, you will disappear into the light and return to heaven."

Harry looked curiously at the man next to him for a moment. "Did you used to be one? Or are you the one who has to explain these things to them before they're sent down?"

"I was one, many years ago, unfortunately my tenure there resulted in a mistranslation of my deepest desire...leaving behind a lie that people have believed for centuries." The man said. There was a note of sorrow in his voice at this, almost as old as the memories he had.

Harry glanced at the man and looked him over, before comprehension dawned on him. There was one person related to Hogwarts who could likely have such a story told about them, one that he had thought evil himself prior to his death.

"You're Salazar Slytherin?" He asked.

The man tilted his head and then nodded slightly in confirmation.

"I didn't think that you would be my guide," Harry said in surprise. "I mean, no offence but I was in Gryffindor when I was in school."

Salazar's lip twitched into a smile for a second at this. "You were _supposed _to go into Slytherin, young man. But you were always doing things your own way...often for the better of it. You truly were a golden Gryffindor. Godric is proud that you were in his house."

Harry felt warm at the cheeks at this admission. Godric Gryffindor, glad that Harry was in his house. "Thank you."

He thought about the Daily Prophet's smear campaign against him, and all the Fudge had done over the year to try and make him out to be insane, dangerous, and untrustworthy, a manic attention seeker so that no one would believe him about Voldemort's return. He remembered how angry he had gotten whenever people made it clear that they believed what the Prophet and the Ministry was going on about, and the way that Umbridge had treated him.

He certainly sympathized with Salazar, about people telling lies about you. It was never fair and very frustrating, and that's when you were alive. Salazar had a lie that had followed him for centuries...one that everyone believed.

One that he himself had believed back when he was alive, he realized.

"You're referring to everyone believing that you advocated pure bloods and didn't think that muggleborns should learn at Hogwarts." Harry recalled, before looking at Slytherin in astonishment.

"That wasn't true?"

"No," Salazar whispered, continuing his pace down the hall. Harry had to put a little speed in his step to keep up. "It never was. I held no malice in my heart towards those of muggle blood, and I certainly never plotted to have them killed."

"Then what was the truth?" Harry asked.

"My mandate was that only the pure in heart should learn magic...because only ones who have no malice and cruelty inside them would use it well. Others would use it for torture and crime, as you have seen." Salazar explained.

He let out a long sigh, as though he were silently crying for those who were being lost to the darkness or out of weariness that people were still falling for an old noose. "Ambition is always a doubled edged sword Harry. It can drive people to do great good for the world...but it can also spur those with darker, less honest souls to do whatever it takes, no matter how vile, to reach what they think is their due."

"Like Tom Riddle did," Harry recalled. "And like the other Death Eaters who came out of your house. Like Malfoy, thinking that he should be able to own the world just because his has a fancy family name. That's twisted ambition."

"Yes. As an avenging angel I brought down my wrath on some muggleborns who killed my youngest sons. The mistranslations began there and have continued."

Harry turned that thought over in his head, their feet tapping the floor in tandem. "I'm sorry, Slytherin." He said. "You said I'm going to be an avenging angel?"

"Yes. You will have a higher form...and two years on earth to destroy all of Voldemort's anchors, allies, powers, philosophies and web. You will have to tear down prejudices that have festered within even the authority of the wizarding world ever since he went to school. Everyone who has wronged you...and your lady."

"Ginny..." Harry whispered. He looked at Slytherin. "Will I be able to interact with her?"

"Yes." Salazar looked seriously at Harry at this point. "You'd best give her some closure to your death..."

"I understand...when am I sent back?"

"When you complete your training. Then you will return to earth."

Harry nodded. "I understand. I will start now."

"Good," Salazar said softly. "Come this way." They had walked to the end of the hallway without Harry realizing it. Nodding at him, they turned and entered two large double doors and into the world beyond it.

**Two Years Later**

Two years.

A sixteen year old Ginny Weasley scraped the dirt of her knees and looked around the forest. She sighed in frustration, removing the cursed locket from around her neck. She looked down at it in disgust, angry with herself for starting to listen to the cursed whispering that the locket gave off at all times.

She had asked Hermione if they could do anything other then wear the damned thing, and the older girl explained that she had tried to leave it in the bottomless bag, she could still hear it, and it was more direct for them to handle it this way. So they never forgot what was making them think these things. Then she had gone to mark the calendar in their three person tent, and realized what day it was. Then neither of them were ready to speak for what felt like ages since.

She rubbed at the edges of her eyes with one scraped hand, determined not to cry once she realized what day it was.

Two years since Harry died. Two years since Voldemort had returned. Two years since everything had gone to hell.

It was a full on war. Ever since Harry had died, Voldemort had never bothered with subtly. He believed himself invincible now that Harry was gone, and he would attack full force to prove it. The Ministry was in ruins thanks to a series of attacks when she had been taking her fifth year at school. The streets were often chaotic thanks to random attacks by Riddle's men, often lead by that maniac Lestrange.

Hogwarts hadn't been attacked yet, and managed to remain one of the only safe places remaining in Britain, but it was only a matter of time.

Her family had to move into Grimmauld Place when the Burrow was attacked and burned down by Lestrange and her group. They'd been lucky to escape with their lives, and Ron had a number of burns on his back thanks to a close call with Friendfyre that the healers hadn't been able to remove. The bitter taste of the spell that killed Harry nearly killing her brother wasn't lost on Ginny.

Sirius had welcomed them in; he was more haggard and reckless then ever these days, with the death of his godson. Remus and Ginny had both done their best to comfort him and keep him from doing anything too stupid, and at least the people who resisted the Death Eaters now knew that he was not guilty of what they had thought for years, but it was only a matter of time before he did something that would get him seriously hurt or worse. At least he had Remus looking out for him when Ginny was out.

Hermione was the one who found out about the Horcruxes. She had gone snooping around in the Headmaster's office during her sixth year (yes, it was that very same Hermione that Ginny had known her entire life) suspecting Draco Malfoy of trying to assassinate the man, and stumbled across memories Dumbledore had kept.

Kept about Voldemort creating Horcruxes.

Which was why Hermione, Luna and Ginny were out here now.

Ron was staying back with his family. He wanted to fight Death Eaters head on, not wander around in the woods, chasing vague leads that might lead them to one of the things Voldemort was keeping his soul in. It wasn't direct enough for him, because he wanted payback.

Ginny wanted it too. But she differed chiefly in that she believed that destroying the Horcruxes, making Voldemort mortal again, was the best revenge she could wreak on the monster without directly confronting him, something that would likely kill her.

Ginny sighed and ran a hand through her messy red hair. She'd cut it short, and stopped caring about taking care of it at some point when this hunt started. Hermione nagged her about it sometimes, but mostly she felt that was the bushy haired witch's way of handling how her world had come crashing down around her, so she didn't begrudge her for it much.

She was just standing up when a brillant flash of gold lit up the sky. Gasping, she stared upwards as a beam of light descended into the centre of the city.

For some reason, just seeing it filled her with hope and energy.

**End Chapter**

**So? How's that for a start? **


	2. Chapter 2

**Vengeance from Beyond the Grave**

**Wanda: Surprise! I haven't forgotten about this one! A short update, but I just got too many ideas at once. Anyway, this chapter is a bit shorter, but I hope you'll all enjoy it. I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter 2: Vengeance**

Fenrir Greyback had been unleashed by Voldemort to cause terror not long after the successful attack on the Ministry. He had bitten many people, killed others, and ruined lives.

Then, one day, people came out onto the street and found his body riddled with crossbolts, his head cut off and impaled on a silver spike.

His latest would-be victim, little Nina Ender, insisted that a black cloaked angel had come down from heaven and rescued her. Her mother was too relieved to press the story, instead electing to threaten any reporters with bodily harm if they approached the family before immediately emigrating to Australia.

That would have been strange enough. The next day, Dolores Umbridge was also found decapitated in her own heavily warded home, her eyes gouged out and the hair cut off before the skull was planted on a spike. The aurors found her body had been bled white, with the words _I Must Not Tell Lies _written on the wall in blood.

Literally no one showed up to her funeral – except for a pair of former Hufflepuffs who elected to piss on her grave.

Walden McNair was found next. Despite having gone into pseudo Mad Eye Moody paranoia, retreating from society, he was still killed. When examining the scene of the crime, Kingsley Shackabolt found that a hole had been punched through the wall with extreme force. He reported that it was unlike any magic he had ever seen.

Lucius Malfoy was next, though oddly his wife and son weren't hurt – physically anyway, they were pretty psychologically damaged when they were finally coaxed out of their mansion. Lucius had been stabbed through the lung and had choked to death on his own blood.

The Carrow Siblings died at Hogwarts. The official explanation was that they wandered into the more dangerous parts of the greenhouse while drunk and failed to properly fend of the Devil's Snare, though none of the teachers believed that – the strangulation marks on their neck better fit human hands.

Though Amycus's two daughters, Hestia and Flora, seemed oddly unfazed by the deaths. In fact, they didn't show up for the funeral, instead disappearing from the country. They would be seen a few years later comfortably settled down in Canada.

The spectre that Nina insisted she had seen appeared in the Ministry Atrium shortly a few days after that. In front of dozens of witnesses, he seemingly froze time, before going about systematically offing various Ministry members, some of whom had their right arm cut off leaving a pulsing dark mark exposed. Others died without this mutilation, but they were known to be either apathetic towards the atrocities being committed or exploiting them out of spite towards 'new bloods'.

Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband died next. Bella's body was burned so badly that she had to be identified by her DNA; signs showed that she had put up quite a vicious fight but her attempt to use Fiendfyre backfired on her.

Her husband and his brother Rabastian were both mutilated and decapitated, which seemed to be this mysterious spectre's MO.

Rumours about this vigilante ran rampant as the news spread. Some people classed it as divine retribution from all of Voldemort's past victims, while others suggested it may be some anonymous muggleborn driven too far by the return of one of history's greatest muggle hater.

No one person seemed to agree on the story – the only consistent details were that he would appear in a flash of light and overpower the offending party with moves too fast to see. Young muggleborns, especially in Hogwarts, tentatively hypothesized that he was a guardian angel sent to protect them.

Despite some effort, none of the would be victims managed to catch a glimpse of their saviour's face. Nina said that he was hidden by his hood; perhaps it was a disillusionment charm to protect his identity from potential retaliation. At least, that's what everyone said.

Ginny Weasley would say differently. But she was a special case.

****With Ginny, Hogsmeade****

"Fuck," Ginny muttered as an explosive alarm rang throughout the seemingly silent and abandoned village. "Should have expected that...damn it, should have waited for Hermione and Luna..."

That was mostly her fault. She had wanted to chase their solid lead on the horxcrux in Hogwarts – not meander around talking to senile old folk like Bagshot. Since Hermione could take care of Luna, she had decided to try to strike her own blow. Unfortunately, the intangible charm she had placed on herself while sneaking in hadn't been quite strong enough.

Snatchers and low ranking death eaters swarmed the village. When they saw Ginny, they grinned, thinking she'd be easy prey.

They were proven wrong very quickly.

Ginny had been a good dueller before Voldemort's return, but with that advent she had learned many lethal spells. She was the only Hogwarts student aside from Hermione who could cast Fiendfyre without loosing control of it.

She killed seven of them, but the numbers were threatening to overwhelm her and she was backed into an alleyway. Ginny was just trying to think of a new strategy when a blinding light forced her to cover her eyes.

When it cleared, the familiar cloaked figure who had been all over the Daily Prophet for the last several weeks was standing between her and the group of Death Eaters. The men let out a disturbed cry when they realized who they were facing, before they all simultaneously threw the killing curse at him.

Before everyone's stunned eyes, the green spells harmlessly disappated when they hit his cloak.

The man – boy – let out a soft chuckle. Then he whipped out a scythe from thin air and spun in a circle. The blade glowed while and tore through all thirty men as if they were made of paper, all in a just a few twirls.

Ginny stood stone still, watching as the figure straightened up and turned towards her. "Thank you..." She asked after she had caught her breath. As grateful as she was for him rescuing her, she was still slightly wary. "What are you doing out here...?"

"..."

"Who are you?"

The boy let out another quiet laugh before saying, "Never thought I'd hear that." the girl's heart stopped. That voice was very familiar...

He turned around to face her and pulled his hood back with one bony hand, revealing wind swept black hair and emerald green eyes.

Ginny felt light headed. Her eyes had to be deceiving her. "H...Harry...!?"

Harry gave her that nervous smile that had always made her breath catch in her throat when he was alive. He took a step towards her, which snapped Ginny out of her shock enough to raise her wand. "Who are you? Why are you wearing his face!?" She demanded.

Harry lowered his scythe, which disappated into shadows. "I thought you'd say that," He said mildly.

"Harry is dead!" Ginny nearly shrieked, though sheer iron self control kept her voice down.

Harry smiled sadly. "I am dead," He responded, taking his gloves off. Ginny gasped. His hands were covered with horrific burns...and a moment later, the flesh vanished to reveal skeletons.

She put a hand over her mouth. Harry flexed his fingers, causing healthy flesh to reappear. "It's good to see you again." He said simply.

Ginny's legs felt watery and weak. The ground lurched. "But...but...how...?"

"I was sent back to finish this." Harry said, gesturing towards the castle. "I don't know if Dumbledore told you about the prophecy...but I was given a little leeway so I could come back and end Voldemort. That...and I'm here to see you one last time."

Ginny stood on her toes for a moment, before flying forward, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him until there was no air in her lungs. His flesh was _cold_, she realized. But it was still him. It was Harry, that foolishly heroic boy who had died rescuing her, who she had loved with all her heart once she had truly gotten to know him.

When they broke apart, Harry smiled at her. "Want a little help, getting that horcrux?"

"You know?" Ginny asked in surprise.

"Of course," Harry said with a slight, wry grin that made him resemble Sirius to a certain extent. "I know everything about dear old Riddle now."

"We'll have trouble getting in," Ginny said, pocketing her wand and frowning at the castle in the distance.

"It's not really about walking," Harry responded before taking her hand. Ginny gasped as they were surrounded by white light. The next moment she could see, they were on the seventh floor of Hogwarts.

"You can do that now?" She asked, incredulous.

"I can be where ever I need to be," Harry answered. "Now...let's go find a crown."

**End Chapter**

**So, next time Harry and Ginny deal with the last threads at Hogwarts before running back to rescue Hermione and Luna from Nagini!Bagshot. Then we go check on Sirius and Remus and Tonks!**

**Read and Review please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Specter's Judgement, Death's Vengeance**

_**Me: (rolls out the kinks in neck) I do hate leaving a story unfinished...I mean, I finally manage to come up with a short, self contained idea and then neglect to finish it? Seriously, writer's block is the absolute worst.**_

_**Ginny: Still kind of a short chapter...**_

_**Me: It's a short story. Stories were Harry is super powerful but spends most of his time mucking around rather than kicking ass and destroying his enemies just baffle me. **_

_**Harry: It is kinda weird.**_

_**Me: Anyway, here's the middle chapter! Hope you guys enjoy.**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter...no duh. I would have given Ginny a lot more to do in Deathly Hallows if I had owned it.**

**Chapter 3: Destruction**

"Fiendfyre!"

Ravenclaw's diadem vanished in a flare of cursed flame; Ginny gasped as Harry slipped an arm around her stomach and pulled her through the doors of the Room of Requirement, forcing them to close, leaving the cursed flame to burn out now that it had done its duty.

Harry released her, then leaned back against the wall, wincing.

"Are you hurt?" Ginny asked, and immediately felt weird for saying so. Could Harry even _feel _pain anymore? He was _dead_, after all (and wasn't that weird to think, in and of itself, when he was standing right in front of her with a physical form?), you'd think he couldn't feel anything.

"I'm not," Harry said soothingly. "This body is a construct; functionally identical to a living body, but it can't be damaged. If I get hit by something that would hurt or kill a living person, I'd just have to reconstruct whatever part of me got hit – it will only take a few seconds. I actually don't feel anything aside from you touching me." He smiled as she blushed. "No, I was wincing because Rowena is throwing a massive fit over what Riddle did to her greatest work of art."

"R-Rowena? Rowena Ravenclaw? You can _talk _to her?"

Harry waved a hand over his head. "This death magic gives me access to all the knowledge I need, sometimes from its source – so yeah, I can hear Rowena at the moment." He paused, and his brow furrowed. "Can you even do that with silly string?"

Ginny stared for a second. "Silly string?"

"You don't want to know," Harry responded semi seriously, a small grin splitting his face. "Helga was too dignified to get upset when you, Hermione and Luna destroyed her cup – it wasn't really hers anymore, she said, and it was better gone than supporting Riddle." He rolled his shoulders back and straightened his coat. "Godric is busy being mortified that his ancestral sword is soaked through with basilisk venom."

"He's still upset about that?" Ginny asked, somewhere between incredulous and amused at the thought. The founders were mythic figures to her; hearing about them squabbling or throwing fits was somewhat jarring.

"Well he did craft it with his own hands..."

Ginny giggled and mouthed out, 'sorry' as she did so; the mental image of the famous Godric Gryffindor fretting like a kid who'd accidentally dunked their game system in water was a bit too much to take with a straight face. Harry smiled and brushed her hair aside, a coolness spread across her skin that was actually rather pleasant.

"Now that that's done with..." Harry offered her his hand. She took it and he pulled her closer. "You said Hermione and Luna were looking for answers?"

"Yeah – WHOA!"

Harry picked her up, bridal style, shielding her face against his shoulder. "Close your eyes," he warned her, beseeching. "The shadows surrounding the pathways of heaven are hard on mortal eyes."

Ginny's initial rebelliousness – she did not need to be carried like some damsel! - died a quick and sudden death, and she nodded, squeezing her eyes shut until she saw red and burying her face in the material of his cloak. And suddenly they were moving – the sensation of falling face first into icy water rushed over her, tugging at her, trying to pull her down. She could hear distant noises – laughter, songs, conversations – as they travelled on. The coldness seemed to be trying to pull her down, but Harry's arms were around her, and he wouldn't let her fall.

As suddenly as it started, it was over, and Harry put her down. Ginny blinked several times and stared in amazement as Bagshot's house. "Wow," She breathed.

Harry nodded, then tensed. "Trouble," he muttered. "The snake's here."

"The _snake_-?" Ginny swore, remembering that painful year, remembering her father being attacked by Voldemort's pet snake. "Hermione! Luna!" She drew her wand and followed Harry as he gestured, smashing the door off its hinges with silent magic, and they both headed inside.

A scream from upstairs sent them up the stairs and into the room it had come from. Hermione was struggling, wrapped up in a massive, snarling creature who's head was being kept away from the girl's neck by Luna. The blonde looked up, eyes wide, as Harry teleported in and manifested his scythe again.

The snake's head went flying one way, the body slackening. Hermione yelped as Nagini's body dissolved into ashes, freeing her and sending her tumbling in a heap on the floor. Harry glanced up towards the ceiling. "It's find, miss." He said politely, addressing someone no longer in the land of the living. "They're both alright."

Hermione stared up at Harry, eyes wide as dinner plates, as Ginny rushed over to Luna and frantically checked her oldest friend for injuries. The blonde smiled at her and brushed her hair aside, murmuring words of comfort and ease. "I shouldn't have left you guys," Ginny said wryly. "You always get in trouble without me."

"That's not always true," Luna said. "Usually, you find the trouble, and we all have to find a way out of it before we get smooshed."

Ginny stuck her nose in the air with a look of mock indignation. Luna giggled and gave her a hug, which the redhead resisted for a second before returning with all energy.

"Harry?" Hermione whimpered. "That's not possible. You can't be here...you were..."

Harry knelt down and touched Hermione's arm. The brunette bookworm gasped as she felt the coldness in his skin. "I am dead," He said simply. "But I am here."

"That's not possible," Hermione repeated, shaking her head in fearful, frightened denial.

"Magic, Hermione," Harry said softly, reaching up and brushing a strand of her busy hair away from her face. "Everything is possible with magic." He smiled. "The Peverells were most put out at you insisting their great trials from Death were 'just fairy tales'. Markus in particular protested that 'a fairy tale couldn't have slit my bloody throat'. William Gryffindor found it pretty funny though."

Hermione let out a small mewling noise, staggering to her feet and throwing herself at Harry. Harry dispersed his weapon again and gently returning it.

"You are dead," Hermione said forlornly. "You smell like it, up close...I've smelled it a lot."

"I know," Harry said, running a hand through her hair before releasing her. "I'm sorry."

Hermione shook her head. "No...no, don't be sorry. If you hadn't...hadn't done what you did Ginny would have died. I know you couldn't abide by that. I would...would have done it too."

Ginny smiled, walking over and intertwining her fingers with the older girl's. Luna walked over and tilted her head at Harry, simply looking at him. Harry smiled. Luna was the person he knew he wouldn't have to convince; she was a Seer, just like her mother Pandora and her ancestor Marina Ravenclaw. "Your mother is very proud of you, Luna." He said. "And...and she says not to worry about the scrying experiment. It would have exploded either way."

Luna blinked once, twice, and then nodded. She looked like she might cry, but wouldn't – she was one of the strongest people Harry knew. "Thank you." She said after a second, her usual ethereal voice wavering slightly. "Tell mummy I miss her very much, please?"

Harry smiled, tilting his head again so it was clear he was listening to someone. "She knows. And she misses you too."

Luna took a few steps forward and hugged Harry around the middle.

Ginny snorted. "Now you're both hanging on my boyfriend. Will you two make up your minds?"

Hermione blushed hotly, while Luna tilted her head to look at Ginny. "I wouldn't mind sharing." She said in an innocent voice. "You with him."

Harry's face turned scarlet, identical to Ginny's. Bloody hell, he hadn't realized he _could _blush, he was a freaking reanimated Avenger! Trust Luna to make it possible. Carefully disentangling himself from the blonde, he looked around the room and opened his palm. A triplet of teacups flew into them, which he quickly transformed into portkeys. "Job's not done yet," He said, handing two teacups to Luna and one to Hermione. "Luna, the one on the right will take you to your father. Once you've got him use the second one, it'll take you to Grimmauld Place. I've gotten rid of most of the worst Death Eaters but they know where your home is. Better safe then sorry. Hermione, yours is a one way ticket to Grimmauld place."

"You're not coming?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "I have more work to do. And Ginny will kill me if she can't come along."

"Damn straight," Ginny muttered.

"...But you're already _dead," _Hermione said with confusion.

"I _know_," Harry emphasized, placing the final china piece in Hermione's hands. Ginny smirked at his expression; the boy who lived and died made just the cutest facial expressions. "Anyway, tell him to round them up and head to Hogwarts. With the Carrows dead, Voldemort has no influence at the school right now and it used to be a fortress for a reason."

"Are you going to fight Voldemort there?" Luna asked curiously.

Harry's brow furrowed. "No. As a matter of fact, I'm mostly sending you there so what I do to kill him won't do any damage to _you_."

Hermione nodded wisely and gave Harry one final hug before activating her portkey and vanishing. Luna handled hers for a moment before saying, "Hey Harry. Are you going to come meet Teddy and Mariah?" Luna was usually the one who babysat for them; little Teddy Lupin and Mariah Black.

"I will. In time." Harry promised. Luna nodded serenely before vanishing in portkey.

Ginny let out a relieved sigh and turned towards him. "How many horcruxes are left?" She asked.

"The cup, the diary, the diadem, the ring, the locket, the snake, and the one that was in my head are all gone." Harry listed off. "All that's really left are the remains of Voldemort's fighting force, and Voldemort himself."

"You've been busy." Ginny said, thinking back to the various news reports she'd read. "Did you get the final horcruxes while you were hunting down those people?" She'd probably enjoyed hearing about Umbridge's death more than she should've, but that was the sort of feeling that woman evoked in general. No one cared that she died.

"Yes." Harry said, offering her his arm. Ginny took it and leaned into his shoulder.

"So what's left?" She whispered. "How long do you have?"

Harry shook his head. "There's too much chaos among Riddle's followers tonight. I'm not doing any more work now. Once they've got their information straight they'll do exactly what I want them too."

"Go to one place so we can destroy and imprison them all?" Ginny suggested.

"Indeed. There's only one real thing left for me to do tonight..." He smiled lopsidedly. "Want to come with me and confront two people?"

**End Chapter**

_**Three guesses who those two people are...should be exciting. For a quick note, the events of HBP didn't happen the same way due to Harry's death quickly escalating things, so a **_**certain someone _is still around to get yelled at. _**

_**Read and Review please**_


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